“But your father told her you refused to see her.”

“He told her you blamed her for the complications that led to Evelyn’s illness.”

“He said if she ever came near the estate again, you would use your influence to ruin her life.”

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the window.

The lie was so complete, so perfectly constructed.

My father had used my grief as a shield to hide his own cruelty.

He knew I was too broken to notice what was happening around me.

“Where are those documents now, Ruth?” I asked, turning back to her.

“Your father never threw anything away,” she said.

“He kept all his private affairs in the study.”

“In the safe behind the portrait,” I said.

“Yes,” Ruth nodded. “Mr. Vance kept copies, but the originals—the ones with the forged signatures—would be in that safe.”

“He kept a file on everyone who ever worked for him.”

“Especially Claire.”

I looked down at my watch.

It was nearly one in the morning.

The hospital corridor was completely empty.

“I am going back to the estate,” I said.